


Homebound

by yourenotacat



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Conversations, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Loss of Identity, Memory Loss, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nothing puts a damper on your relationship like one hundred years apart, Post-Calamity Ganon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Tension, Selectively Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), Some Humor, Zelda is bitter and I can't blame her, but they'll figure it out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-01-15 16:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21256499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourenotacat/pseuds/yourenotacat
Summary: The trip from Kakariko to Hateno takes three days, and the safest route is through Blatchery Plains where Link died one hundred years ago.Or, these kids have just fulfilled their destiny, and it’s time to figure their shit out.





	1. Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but then the first section turned into 14 pages so apparently I can't write anything short. I know there are already a lot of stories like this one, but I wanted to give it a go. I think there's still an appetite for their Post-Calamity reunion so *shrugs*. Anyway, hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

_ Link is quiet. _

It’s a silly thought for Zelda to have—anyone who's met him knows that’s a given—and yet, there’s a part of her that recognizes this silence as extraordinary, even for him.

She notices the way his feet lift, disturbing the grass as little as possible as they walk, and how he stifles his breathing, opting for oval-shaped lips to the slight whistle of his nostrils. One hand clings to the belt across his chest, keeping the scabbard of the Master Sword from bouncing with his footsteps. The other fidgets with his arrows' fletching, an anxious habit he doesn’t remember having. He’s consciously blending into the noises of the wild, making himself invisible. If she couldn’t still see him in her periphery, she’d think he was doing a damn good job.

It’s odd, unnerving even.

She wonders at first if it’s a survival tactic, an attempt to stealthily avoid a pack of Bokoblins or a deceptive Yiga footsoldier—though, he hasn’t asked her to mind her movements and defeating any remaining monsters would be an easy task for him now. The ones that were a real threat vanished alongside Ganon and his malice. 

Zelda tilts her head slightly to view him fully. The tiny movement catches his eye, and his head whips to meet her gaze. She gasps (one, from the suddenness, and two, because she’s been caught) before whirling back to look at the path in front of them. The quick motion makes her lightheaded, almost stumbling over her own feet. He stares at her, expecting her to speak.

“It’s nothing.” His eyes linger for a moment, so she adds untruthfully, “Honestly.”

It takes him a few seconds to believe her, or at least pretend to, as he focuses again on the road.

_ He wasn't quiet in Kakariko_.

The first sounds she heard after three straight days of sleeping were of Koko and Cottla screaming as Link chased them around the village in a game of tag. His own laughter then filtered through the window as he hoisted Cottla onto his shoulders and away from the tag of her older sister. The noise had nearly brought Zelda to tears.

She wonders if she’ll ever hear it again. That or his voice.

He had spoken freely with Impa and Paya and Dorian and Cado and Claree and Lasli (and she was definitely forgetting names now) but only if she were not around to witness it. It had happened more than once. She’d enter the room just to hear the conversation stagnate, his light voice giving out. He’d stare at her with a tight grin, acting as if everything was okay, as if there wasn’t some weird, unspoken tension between them.

That stupid grin is somehow worse than his unwavering distance.

A dull ache pulsates in her soles as her calves tense in a defiant rigidness, a century of unused muscles finally stretching out. It’s painful and makes their pace slow. She doesn’t want to stop, but can’t fight the urge of plopping down against the next tree they pass.

A huff escapes her lips. “Maybe Impa was right.”

It’s the third break she has needed today, and they haven’t even crossed Kakariko Bridge. The sun sits at the peak of its arc, and their plan to make it to the Dueling Peaks Stable before nightfall grows more improbable by the minute. Link stills beside her, head swiveling to look from the direction they came.

_ “Go back?” _ he signs. It’s the first thing he’s said to her all day.

She follows his gaze, realizing the majority of their trip has been downhill and traveling back to the Sheikah village would be twice as agonizing on her weak legs.

“No. I only need a second.” Unhooking the canteen from her belt, she takes a swig, then offers some to Link who shakes his head, remaining on his feet. His fingers still toy with the fletching subconsciously. “Did it take you long to adjust? Surely, your body was as sore as mine is now.”

That tight grin forms on his lips as he shrugs innocently, as if that’s an answer. She stretches a hand out in front of herself and wiggles her fingers languidly. Link’s eyes are on her as she brings it back and examines the palm with her other hand, almost like she’s afraid that if her focus shifts, it will disappear.

“It still feels weird.” He unsurprisingly says nothing, but she’s compelled to add on, “Having control of a body. I kind of forgot what it was like.” There’s almost a laugh in her words. Zelda outstretches her fingers once more, flexing like she’s getting a feel for them. “It just doesn’t feel like my own.”

He does not speak, or shake his head, or even shrug. There is no acknowledgement that she’s spoken, and it’s nearly infuriating. She lifts her hand towards him, and he helps her back onto unsteady feet. His calloused fingertips and light leather gloves a blessing against her skin for the brief seconds before he lets go. His eyebrows raise as if he’s asking a question, and she knows that he is.

“We’re still going.”

**

Fireflies dance in the air, the sun long since set below the horizon, as they reach the Dueling Peaks Stable. The once lit lanterns have grown cold, the shutters to the counter closed. Link’s fist meets three times with the locked door in rapid succession to no avail. It’s his fourth attempt to rouse someone from their slumber. He releases a slow, heavy breath as he leans his forehead against the wood with an audible thud.

“This is my fault.” Zelda’s hands wring together in front of her as she sits on a small boulder, her legs fraught with pain. He doesn’t lift his head as it shakes in disagreement, softly grinding it into the door. “I should have stayed in Kakariko until I felt better. I apologize for my selfishness.”

“_We.” _

Given the moonlight and occasional firefly are their only sources of illumination, and he’s barely facing her, she isn’t sure she read that right. “I’m sorry?”

He straightens back to his full height, turning towards her entirely. “We_ should have stayed until you were better.” _

He emphasizes the first word again, ensuring there is no misinterpretation to his meaning. Though there is no anger in his expression—his face is calm, virtually unreadable—he has always been good at hiding his emotions. The guilt nearly swallows her as he approaches her side again.

“You could have gone off on your own for a few days,” she says though she doesn't mean it.

As lovely as Impa and Paya had been as hostesses, nothing compares to the comfort of Link’s presence. He is the only part of Hyrule that looks the same as she remembers it, that feels in any way familiar. A hundred years ago, Impa had been a researcher, barely in her mid-twenties; now, she was the Sheikah Elder, a grandmother to a girl nearly Zelda’s age.

The world had continued without them, and that thought pierces her heart with grief every time she thinks it. Despite Link’s odd distance, she needs him there to remind her that she is not the only relic of pre-Calamity Hyrule left.

He lets out a soft snort. It’s the most expressive he has been around her since they woke up at Impa's, and if she wasn’t feeling guilty, she’d almost enjoy it. “What’s funny about that?”

“_I wouldn’t have left you.” _

Her heart surges with a deep pining, though it should not. She knows his words aren’t as profound as she’s interpreting them.

“Impa and Paya would have taken good care of me. I would have been fine.”

“_I know.” _

He points first into the darkness of the plains behind the stable and then to his adventuring pack; he has supplies to set up camp if she's okay with it. The slow ascent to her feet is her answer, and that tight grin dresses his lips again.

The first step is easy, but the second buckles under her weight. Link’s arms circle her before her knees even hit the dirt. Her face plants into his shoulder, nose crunching against his collarbone, as he steadies her. The aroma of his freshly laundered tunic mixes with the chickaloo nut from the pumpkin soup he and Paya had prepared for dinner last night and his own earthy scent of cedar and grass.

It takes everything in her not to cry from how familiar it all smells, how much she desires to go back to Kakariko, and how wonderful it feels to be this close to Link. Her head raises to find his eyes softened with concern and a wrinkle in his brow, questioning her like he has done all day.

“I’m fine.” Her hands grip his shoulders for balance as she shifts her weight back to normal. Sharp pains shoot from her ankles to her knees. She lets out a soft groan and falls again into his shoulder. “I’m useless.”

A light laugh escapes through his nose. It's so unlike the fits of laughter from his game of tag with Koko and Cottla, but it still brings a smile to her face despite the throbbing in her muscles. He squats low, securing one arm underneath her knees and the other below her armpits, and hoists her from the ground into his chest, like a parent would a weary child. The pressure off her legs is instant relief.

Defeated, her head nuzzles against his shoulder. She swears a genuine smile crosses his features for a second before he’s unreadable again. He shifts her weight slightly as his feet lead them into the darkness of the woods and further away from the stable. She doesn’t remember feeling tired, but with the gentle sway of his gait, the smell of pumpkin soup and cedar, and the metronomic thumping of his heart beneath his tunic, she is asleep before she knows it.

**

The humming of a soft voice, the scrapping of a wooden utensil against cast iron, or the light chopping of a knife against a cruciferous vegetable wakes her sometime later. She’s propped up against a tree trunk a few feet from a fire, the warmth of it only reaching her toes. Goosebumps pucker over her arms, but Zelda stays still, letting just her eyes flutter open.

His back is slightly towards her as he cuts. Stripped out of his tunic and boots, Link dons his undershirt pushed up to his elbows as his bare feet warm themselves near the fire. His head lightly bobs side-to-side along to the tune in his throat. It’s a rare sight to see him so calm, so defenseless, and she can do nothing but bask in it.

Link’s cooking is a meticulous routine that nearly keeps him sane, the constant rhythm of cutting and stirring almost a meditation. His mellow hums are children’s lullabies and Hyrulean hymns that he’s long forgotten, and his recipes are ones that would put his mother’s to shame. He doesn’t know of course, and Zelda won’t tell him out of fear that he’ll stop singing to himself, or worse, stop cooking altogether. 

A sigh flows from his nose, tension releasing from his shoulders, as he drops the perfectly portioned purple vegetable into his pan. There’s a subconscious smile adorning his lips as he tosses the sprout around, grabbing a few spices from his adventuring pack to season it.

Her thighs strain, begging her to stretch out, but by grinding her molars, she fights it. A shiver threatens to quiver over her, so her arms gradually inch tighter around her torso, holding in any heat she can without garnering his attention. Her eyes roam past Link to their surrounding campsite.

Husks of dead guardians lay strewn in the open fields around them. Some are newly deceased, their bodies still shiny and reflecting the glow of the campfire. The majority, however, have spent decades withering in the elements, reclaimed by the earth as nature blooms inside them and hillsides threaten to shroud them entirely. The further into the fields she looks, the more they appear.

Zelda recognizes their location as the dark grey skin of a salmon filet sizzles into the pan.

Her gaze jumps back to Link who’s too focused on the food to notice. _ Does he know? _

The whirring mechanisms of the guardians suddenly blast through her ears. Ground trembling beneath their footsteps as their clawlike ends dig into the terrain. The beasts scour the forest for the princess and her knight who recoup among a thicket of trees. For the first time since she’s known him, panic resides on his face.

A breeze wafts the smell of the salmon towards her, and she almost gags, the scent of Link’s burning flesh sitting at the front of her mind.

At first, it is simple and benign, not too different from a leatherworker tanning his hides over a small flame. But quickly it grows. A copperiness accompanies the modest scent until it is a fetid one that lingers so thickly it almost has a taste. It‘s meaty and putrid and nauseating to inhale.

The skin of the salmon chars like his own after the beam from a guardian rips across his arm, his leg, his abdomen. He’s too slow—too wounded—and a shot meant to decapitate him lands against his left ear, singeing off most of it and burning pieces of his hair to the root. A sulfuric smell mixes with the already dense musk of the air. Parts of his clothing nearly fuse with his skin, searing where the beams have traveled over him. He lifts his sword to attack only to realize half of his forearm has vanished. The blue of his Champion’s tunic clashes with the blood spilling through his fingers as he clutches his side. One beam that barely grazed his hip will be enough for him to bleed out. 

When he collapses behind her, she knows she is too late to save him. Her arms cradle him as she begs him not to die. His blood taints the already filthy white satin of her prayer gown, and his eyes strain to stay open, failing after only a few seconds. Faint breaths through his nostrils hardly reach her neck as one ear pressed against his chest listens to the slowing rhythm of heartbeats.

She prayed to Hylia not to take him from her, but as always, her prayers did nothing.

Zelda’s head hangs between her knees, and she retches onto the grass and tree roots beneath her, her facade of sleep broken. Once she's finished, Link whistles lightly to grab her attention and tosses the canteen the short distance to her, worry washing over his face. She catches it easily, giving him a thumbs up before swishing a mouthful around to rid herself of the taste—of her vomit or his death, she doesn't know—and spitting it all onto the ground. Her legs are still unsteady beneath her as she stands and joins him across the fire, keeping the canteen close.

_ He must_, she decides as he finishes serving their dinner of salmon, rice, and the purple sprout. His hand stretches over the fire with her bowl, but she lifts her own in rejection. “I’m not that hungry.”

Out of all the bodily functions to return to her, hunger hasn’t yet been one of them. It’s been a week and a half since they’ve defeated the Calamity, and she’s barely eaten. He knows this too, as the one who had finished all of her leftovers in Kakariko. He pushes the meal closer.

“Eat.”

Link’s voice surprises her, somehow lighter and softer than she remembers, though still hoarse from not speaking all day. His tone now isn’t commanding or angry, but stern, like that of a mother with a stubborn child. He sighs when she does nothing but stare. “You’ll feel better.”

She slowly takes it from him, their fingers grazing each other’s at the exchange. He leans back, taking his own bowl into his hands and eating silently. He’s a fourth of the way through his meal before Zelda manages her first bite.

“What’s—” she asks, pointing to the unknown vegetable.

He swallows a bite that’s too big before answering, “Armoranth. It’ll help with—” He looks down at her legs and doesn’t finish his sentence.

She nods, avoiding the salmon that’s still too reminiscent of skin, and takes a hesitant bite. The sprout has just enough give that it has a pleasant texture as her teeth sink into it. It’s one of the first things that has tasted good to her.

“Thank you.”

That tight grin graces his lips again as he nods once, letting the conversation die.

Their utensils scratch the edges of their bowls. Two crickets stridulate in search of a mate. A log in the fire crackles, and a stream of cinders floats to the top. Guays squawk overhead as they travel west. The noises of the night are somehow overly silent and deafening all at once.

A sigh escapes her, knowing what she must do if their relationship is ever going to return to normal.

Link scrapes the last bits of rice into his mouth and then sets his empty bowl aside with a contented exhale. He points to the canteen at her feet and slightly tilts his head, asking for it nonverbally. She obliges, lobbing it into his waiting hands.

"You know,” Zelda starts as he gulps down a few mouthfuls, almost hating herself for it, “when we get to your house, it's just going to be the two of us."

He swallows and nods in agreement, having no idea what she means.

She adds a little more tersely, "You won’t be able to avoid me there."

His brow furrows as the top of the canteen screws back into place. He’s unsure of what to say, and she's somewhat afraid he’ll just shrug. His mouth opens and then promptly closes before he lifts his hands. _ "I'm not avoiding you." _

She recognizes the anxiety settling within him since he is signing again after speaking. She worries that he’ll clam up and not be able to speak to her at all if she isn’t careful.

"You've barely said anything to me all day."

He agrees with a single nod and a little shrug of his shoulders, as if her words aren't surprising to him. 

"Have I upset you?" His head shakes. "Then why is it just me?"

_ "What?" _

"You had no issue talking to anyone in Kakariko. Not Impa or Paya or Koko or Cottla or Dorian or Cado.” She drives her point straight into his heart, seeing just how uncomfortable it makes him. “It’s only me. Why?”

His hands wring in his lap uselessly for a moment, eyes darting back and forth as if he’s reading while staring into the flames. He’s thinking of what to say, rehearsing his response multiple times in his head before stating it. She remembers this symptom of his mutism and won’t interrupt him as he works through it.

He lifts his head, eyes meeting hers across the fire. “_Isn’t that what you want? _”

“No, why would I—” Her mouth swallows the question. “You think I don’t want you to speak to me?”

His shoulders rise slowly and sheepishly, clearly embarrassed. Guilt envelopes her heart and sinks it into her already upset stomach.

“Why would you think that?”

He sighs, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth to quickly lick his lower lip. He tests a few words to himself, so low that she can’t hear them.

“I don’t know—” his voice returning to him, quiet and stuttering. “You’re a—” He gestures vaguely to her then, “I’m just—” to himself. He lightly groans in frustration, gaze rising to the stars above as if they hold the words he’s failing to utter.

“Your memories haven't painted a clear picture for you, have they? You don’t remember how we were friends,” she surmises, choosing her words carefully to not overwhelm him with the fact that they were once much more than that. He agrees, still staring into the night sky. Relief washes over her, but it only makes her feel worse; she has no right to be reassured by him when he is still so lost. “You and I had grown quite close b—”

_ Before I watched you die. _ The guardian carcasses loom over them, and the smell of the salmon’s charred skin still hangs in the air. Her stomach gurgles. She clears her throat, starting again, “We used to speak very openly and honestly with each other.”

He nods slowly, digesting her words. After a few silent seconds, he asks, “_Can I _?”

“Can you what?”

“_Be honest with you_.”

She can’t fight the smile that appears on her face at the innocence of the question. “Always.”

Zelda stares at him, admiring just how beautiful he is, as he remains focused on the stars. His chin pointed high as he leans back onto the dirt with both palms. The wind jostles the pieces of hair that frame his face (the ones that are still too short to stay in his ponytail) and the orange glow of the fire dances in his blue eyes. She desires nothing more than to join him across the fire, run her fingers over his bare forearms, and pepper kisses over his exposed neck like she had done a dozen or so times one hundred years ago.

Movement twists his lips, and she patiently waits for his voice to catch up. “I don’t remember how to be your knight.”

It finally clicks.

“You’re afraid of breaking your code of conduct. That’s the reason you’ve been so quiet.”

His hand wiggles back and forth. “Partly.”

“Oh, Link," she slightly laughs. “I haven't been a princess in a very long time. You aren't my knight anymore.”

His head snaps back down to look at her, the casualness of her statement provoking him. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.” He stares at her, brows furrowed as he disagrees. “The entirety of Hyrule’s royal family perished a century ago as far as most Hyruleans are concerned. Then one day, I appear out of thin air and demand that it’s my divine right to rule them? I can’t do that, not after I failed them.”

“Don’t say that,” he repeats harshly, like he's gritting his teeth. His gaze intensifies, and as much as she’d like to tear her eyes away, she cannot. “You have never failed anyone. Ever. You fought hard every day before the Calamity and for one hundred years after. For them.”

He points out into the field at the invisible population of Hyrule before his trembling finger comes back on himself. “For me.” He laughs humorlessly, almost in astonishment. “How can you still blame yourself?”

“How can you?” she whispers back, breaking eye contact by staring down at her feet.

The two crickets whose chirps had faded into the background emerge at the forefront again. Crackles in the fire suddenly pop in their ears. She senses his unabated leer, but ignores it.

When it’s clear he isn’t going to answer, she resumes her original thought. “It’s just not feasible, and even if it was, it’s not something I want anyway.”

“Don’t we have a responsibility to...” He shrugs, not knowing how to finish his sentence.

“No. We've fulfilled our responsibilities; our destiny is over.” She looks up at the sky, watching the stars glimmer through the sparse clouds. “If Hylia wants anything else from us, She will have to ask for my permission.”

“Zelda.”

Her name is an incredulous hiss in his mouth. She recognizes her words as blasphemous, especially for one whose blood flows with divinity, but her threat to the Goddess is an empty one. “We've already sacrificed everything we had for Hyrule. What else is left for Her to take?”

He doesn’t have an answer, and she isn’t expecting one. She continues picking at the rice and sprout in her lap though they’ve gone cold. The silence persists for far too long.

“So if I’m no longer your knight or the Hero, then who am I?”

The pain in his voice rips her heart in half.

Zelda cannot help herself as she crosses the barrier between them, settling down in front of him. Both hands cup his face as her sincere eyes bore into his. It’s clear from his expression that despite everything that he has remembered, there is so much he hasn’t.

“You’re still you.”

There's a flinch in his shoulders, the ghost of a shrug he changed his mind about.

“My only memories are of protecting you, of saving Hyrule. If I can't do that, then what can I do?”

“Anything you want.” It’s not the reply he needs, and she recognizes that, thumbing his cheek gently, apologetically. “We can just be ourselves now, no weight of destiny holding us back. Isn’t that what we always wanted?”

“I… I don’t know.” There is no bitterness or frustration in his words. It’s just a fact; he doesn’t know.

He will never recall that night at the Spring of Power where they had cried together, discussing their desires and fears, and where they had their first kiss knowing any day could be their last. He won’t reminisce about that stupid, idealized pact they made to turn to anonymity when the Calamity was defeated and live roaming the countryside until everyone forgot about them or they died (whichever came first). It’s why his reaction to her ill words of Hylia were so hostile. He doesn’t remember that he’s the one who planted that heretical seed in her mind, that he never wanted to be the Hero. 

Now, though, it’s his entire identity. 

“Right.” She takes a deep breath before asking, “You have no idea what you want, do you?”

He almost laughs. “I don’t.”

One hand releases his face and pushes his bangs back off his forehead. He closes his eyes with a contented sigh as she tucks one of the pieces behind his left ear. A finger traces the edge of it, remembering the damage. The new skin is as soft as a newborn’s, and contrasted to the old, feels much more fragile. If it were daytime, she is sure the scar tissue would be visible. 

“Think about what feels good, what makes you happy,” she whispers as her hands pull away from his face. His eyes move back and forth behind his lids, like he’s reading again, as he prepares to speak.

“Cooking.”

A long beat.

“Helping people_._”

She hears the smile in his voice before it appears.

“Horses.”

His nose folds at the bridge as he fights back a laugh.

“Shield surfing.”

The small amount of joy fades from his face. His lids reopen, and he stares at her with all the vulnerability he can muster. "_You'll still let me protect you, won't you?" _

Her heart constricts; she has no right to ask that of him. But if he _ wants _ to protect her, that means he plans on staying with her, and if he plans on staying with her, that might mean he still loves her.

"That would make you happy?” she barely manages to whisper, voice threatening to crack. After a few seconds, a genuine smile spreads across his face, and he nods once. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to," she says softly, assuring that he's serious, that it's truly what he wants. "You're under no obligation to stay beside me."

"I know."

"If you change your mind—"

"I won't."

"I don't want to force you into—"

"Zelda," he says through a laugh.

"What?" she asks, a little too innocently.

Link observes her for a moment, a lopsided grin pulled into his right cheek. His eyes are soft as they traverse her face. A giggle conceals itself in his chest. His hands in his lap twitch, stopping themselves from reaching out and touching her. 

"Nothing."

The fire still scarcely burns, the logs just glowing. In a few hours, the sun will rise, and their journey to Hateno will have to continue. She glances over at the tent shrouded beneath the trees a few feet away and thinks of retiring for the evening. The yawn that escapes her lips helps.

Though, that thought leaves her when Link asks, “What makes you happy?”

_ You. _

“Research. I can’t wait to work alongside Purah to advance Hyrule’s technology and make it accessible to every village.”

_ You. _ She thinks a bit longer. “Long bubble baths with warm safflina soaking in the water. It helps keep the temperature longer, and it just smells nice.”

_ You. _She spots her half-finished meal abandoned on the other side of the campfire. “Your cooking. I forgot how much I missed it until tonight, but you’ve always had such a talent.”

His eyes roll; he never could take a compliment.

She giggles. “I mean it. I used to hate returning from our trips and eating from the castle again because it never tasted as good.” 

Her tone grows serious again as she remembers the life she used to live, the role she once fulfilled, and how miserable she had been. She has the opportunity now to rid herself of that past, to make her own choices, to finally be happy. And yet, there's a small part of her that still fears Link judges her for not wanting to return to the crown, and it kills her inside.

"Link?"

"Yeah?"

She takes a deep breath.

“You said I fought for this kingdom and for you, and while you’re right, I am not as selfless as you paint me.” He remains quiet, watching her as she speaks earnestly.

“I also fought for myself, for my wants. I want my research with Purah, my warm safflina bubble baths, and my hot bowl of pumpkin soup. I want to spend my nights like this, under the stars and on the road without a soul in sight. I want my small community where everywhere feels like home and every neighbor is a friend. I want to help harvest the crops before the first frost, and I want to run barefoot in the mud in a game of tag."

It’s only when his hand grips her knee that she realizes she's trembling, fingers digging into her thighs.

“No destiny. No grand balls with foreign governments. No policy meetings with some council. No undeserved admiration from thousands of unknown people.” A shaky breath. “No... pressure.”

Her hands fold together in her lap. "My happiness will never accompany a throne.”

He stays quiet for a moment, staring at his hand as his thumb skims her knee. When his eyes lift, his expression is tender and warm, even somewhat apologetic. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

It’s her own words reiterated back to her. She offers him a small grin as her hand lays on top of his, gently pressing it deeper into her knee. A warmth tightens inside her at the thought of it turning over and interlacing with her own. She knows that Link isn’t that forward, but that that’s okay, that this is enough.

They nod once simultaneously. Whether they’re making an agreement, another stupid pact, or a new life motto, she doesn’t know, but it’s something they both need. His fingers squeeze her knee just a little harder.

They simmer here for a moment, soft gazes locked together, thumbs absentmindedly caressing each other, as their conversation succumbs to the noises of the night.

After three deep yawns from Zelda, Link cleans up the campsite and kills the fire before offering his elbow to help her to her feet and guide her to the tent. Though her legs do feel slightly better, she won’t deny the assistance, looping her hand into the crook and feeling the warmth of his skin through the light material of his undershirt. He motions for her to enter first, so she obliges, brow wrinkling in confusion when he remains outside.

"I need to keep watch," he says, stretching his arms above his head and yawning.

“You need to sleep." He disagrees, beginning to close the tent flaps in front of himself. She's almost too tired to argue with him. 

Almost.

"Compromise?"

He pauses, head tilting slightly to the left.

"Keep watch from inside the tent." She reaches out and gives his ear a tug. "There's a reason Hylia gave you these big ears, afterall."

With a light laugh through his nose, Link yields to her, one hand reaching behind his head and undoing the band there. His hair tumbles over his shoulders, barely hanging past his collarbones. He tousles it a few times before joining her inside.

In the middle of the single bedroll lay her nightclothes gracefully folded on top of an extra blanket. Her hands grip the bottom hem of her shirt, and even though it’s completely dark, Link turns to avoid seeing her stripped, still respecting the modesty of the princess she isn’t. She fights back the giggle.

Once dressed for bed, she finds him sitting at the edge of the bedroll, staring out into the wilderness through the tent flaps. She settles behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Goodnight, Link.”

His head swivels, catching her out of the corner of his eye. “Night.”

Zelda slips underneath the cover of the bedroll, then unfurls the extra blanket over top. She flips onto her stomach and stretches out her legs, allowing the tips of her covered toes to press into Link’s butt. He shuffles away from her at first, but after she does it again, he realizes it’s on purpose and stays put.

There’s a comfort in touching him, in knowing that he’s nearby. A hundred years alone with nothing but malice and hatred has left with her a deep craving for physical reassurance (no matter how small). It's the strongest reminder that her battle is over, that she won. To feel his warmth, his squishy skin and calloused palms, his steady breath, and his gentle touch is to feel alive.

Her breathing evens out as the exhaustion from their trip finally comes over her. That gentle pull of blackness just inviting her into a deep slumber when—

Link shivers.

Her eyes open again, heavier than before, as she turns over and sits up.

“I’m fine. I have warmer clothes,” he whispers into the darkness, fingers digging into the bottomless pit of his adventuring pack. She lifts the extra blanket off of the bedroll and wraps it around his shoulders. “No, I’m okay.”

Lovingly, she pats his head twice before laying back down, ignoring his requests to take it back. “Goodnight, Link,” she murmurs as her toes find him again.

He tugs the blanket closer. “Goodnight, Zelda.”

It doesn’t take her long to realize why he had given it to her. Despite how tired she is, it’s uncomfortably cold. Her arms tuck beneath her to conserve heat, though she knows they’ll turn numb from her weight within an hour. She focuses on her breathing, attempting to even it out on her own. It’s almost working until—

She shivers.

“This is stupid."

He twists the blanket off his shoulders before crawling beside the bedroll and dragging it over her until he reaches her face.

Her hand lands on his at the edge of the blanket and gives it a gentle pull, a silent question. He sighs as she turns her back to him, shuffling to the end of the pillow, and lifts the cover of the bedroll.

"You said I could still protect you."

"You can. O Great Hero of Hyrule, protect me from this cold,” she mutters, half-asleep.

He doesn't find her as funny as she finds herself, though he relents, clasping the tent flaps before laying down beside her. His back presses into hers.

Though she shouldn't feel slighted, she does. She knows, logically, that most nights will not be like those first three in Kakariko where they shared Paya's small bed, a tangle of limbs finding each other in their unconscious states. They had been too tired then to know who or what they were cuddling, but now, it would be a conscious decision. 

She rolls over and nestles her arm underneath his, circling his chest as her knees press into the back of his. She forgets just how small Link is until their bodies are flush. His soles reach only the middle of her shins, and he is too skinny despite how much he eats, yet impossibly strong for his tiny frame. His hair tickles her cheek as she nuzzles closer, and his body stiffens.

“Zelda.” Her name catches in his throat, somewhere between a warning and a plea.

For once, it is her turn to say nothing.

Instead, she tightens her grip, sighs contently, and allows herself this moment of reprieve. In the morning, he might have a few choice words for her, and tomorrow night, he might not join her in the tent at all. But tonight, this is all she needs.

Her face presses into his shoulder, and her breath hangs in the cotton of his shirt. It’s cold as she inhales and warm as she exhales. That gentle tug of darkness calls to her again as his body finally relaxes against hers.

He slowly interlaces their fingers over his heart, that metronomic thumping returning beneath her palm, and releases a heavy sigh. As she drifts off, Zelda swears there's a genuine smile adorning his lips.


	2. Day Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. I uhh... really didn't think that this chapter was going to take six and half months to write, but it's finally here!! It got A LOT fluffier than I originally planned, but there is still plenty of heavy angst, so I guess it evens out.
> 
> Thank you for all of the wonderful comments you guys left in my absence, and I hope that this chapter was worth the wait. I also hope that you're all doing as well as you can right now given the state of the world and that you're able to take a breather, relax, and find some peace. <3
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!!

_ Link is pretty. _

It's a silly thought for Zelda to have considering she's not even looking at him (or, at least not trying to). One eye peers through the blurriness of a half-opened lid as she feigns sleep, observing him from the other end of the tent. A mosaic of scar tissue and sun-kissed flesh marred by deep purples and sickly yellows greets her. It’s almost shameful that she cannot look away. 

He hitches a pair of pants up to his mid-thigh before doing two little hops to wiggle into the rest of them. A medium blue tank top glides over his head and lands on his shoulders. He gathers and smooths the matted mess he calls hair, the ghost of a melody humming through the hair tie dangling between his lips. Leather intertwines with metal as he secures the belts around his shoulder and waist. He pulls one a little too tightly, quietly gasps at the constriction, and then loosens it until just snug. 

It's all familiar, but weirdly so.

Zelda had never considered how innate mannerisms were before she started studying this version of Link. While the researcher in her loves comparing the subtle differences, the eccentric similarities, the part of her that cares about him finds these habits heartwrenching.

He’ll do something small—questions knitting his brow, fingers anxious in an arrow’s fletching, lips whistling for her attention—and suddenly, she’s one hundred years in the past where the brunt of the world is still on their shoulders and the Calamity hasn’t yet decimated Hyrule. Or worse, he’ll do something his old self would never have done—games of tag with Koko and Cottla, shield surfing down muddy hillsides, open conversations with almost anyone—and suddenly, she has no idea who the person in front of her is.

Sometimes he is a stranger, sometimes he is the boy she fell in love with, and sometimes she doesn’t know which one she prefers. 

He turns to her, and her eye snaps shut. She worries that she’s been caught ogling at him, that he can see right through her sham, but his footsteps are light as he tiptoes over.

Crouching down onto one knee, he lets out a quiet sigh. Fingers nudge her forehead, and she fights back a flinch. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before his thumb traces down the rest of it and lands on her cheek, her thumping heart a stark contrast to his gentle touch. He rubs in a back and forth motion so light to avoid waking her that she barely feels it.

Maybe she should open her eyes. Would he continue this semi-caress if she did? Or pull back, acting like he hadn’t been touching her at all? Perhaps he’s testing her, seeing just how long she’ll put on this facade of slumber, just how much she takes him for a fool. 

Her opportunity vanishes as his hand firmly squeezes her shoulder and shakes her a little. His voice is only a whisper, “Hey.”

She pretends to stir, eyes faking a natural flutter, before squinting open to his face. He stares at her with that expression of his that’s as neutral and as indifferent as always. She internally deflates.

_ At least he isn’t mad at me... _

"Hey." Weary, she sits up, knuckles rubbing the sleep from her eyes. He shuffles onto his feet and retreats towards the tent flaps, the furthest he can get from her without leaving entirely.

“_We should head out,_” he signs.

Zelda holds up all five fingers while yawning. He understands the gesture, gives a single nod, and exits.

_ ...maybe. _

Her arms stretch above her, back cracking in a way that feels lighter and straightens her posture. Rising to her feet isn’t uncomfortable or even painful, though she still stands on her tiptoes, flexing the muscles to test their resilience. She does it again in the opposite direction, firmly pressing her heels into the ground and lifting her toes. There’s nothing but the normal pleasant strain and release; that armoranth worked better than she had expected.

Clean clothes are laid out for her at the end of the bedroll. It doesn’t elude her as she examines them that she has only worn Link's and Paya’s since defeating the Calamity, that she was once the princess of an entire kingdom and now not a single thing is hers. Her heart tugs.

_ What a stupid thing to be upset about. _

Link’s khaki pants fit her snugly at the waist, and the hem hangs an inch or two (...or three) above her ankle. She cuffs the material into two neat folds so the shortness looks intentional, fashionable even, before sliding into a long sleeve undershirt and maroon tunic. If she’s looking to blend in with other Hylian travelers, this outfit fits the bill. 

Outside, she finds Link stamping out the remnants of a fire and shoving his cooking pans into the pouch on his hip. Beside him are at least a dozen meals bundled in korok leaves and knotted twine. He stuffs those into the pouch as well. Two open leaves rest on a rock next to him with one nearly empty. There’s a mouthful of something in his cheek as he chews, not looking up as she approaches.

"Someone's been busy," Zelda says as she grabs a pan by the handle and offers it to him. His eyes flicker up to hers, then he gives a curt nod and packs it away. A yellowing bruise decorates his forearm, encased by pink, indented scar tissue. She motions to it with her chin. "That looks painful."

He says nothing.

“The other day I heard you mention something about fairy tonics. Do they not aid in the healing process?”

He swallows, takes another bite.

The tension between them pulls tauter despite his soft affections moments ago. Cuddling him last night may have overstepped a boundary, and while she once knew how to navigate this strained atmosphere that always hung between them (that she usually created), she’s out of practice by a few decades. That discomfort brings forth a nervous tick she thought she'd left in the past.

“I ask only out of curiosity. I’d like to run a few experiments on the medicinal items you’ve used. Today’s medicine seems different from the past, and there are new strains of plants whose potency we haven’t properly gauged. You, likely, are the most knowledgeable about their healing properties. I’d value your input once we reach Hateno.”

Nothing.

"Do you think Purah might have some knowledge on the development process? I assume it's been a struggle, but I know if she did, she'd try her hardest to find the right methods. She definitely would have kept a journal of her research as well. It might be nice to see what came first, what worked, what didn't. I'll have to ask."

His hands move to sign. She doesn’t notice.

“The Gerudo used to have a salve they harvested from hydromelon skins, or maybe it was voltfruit. Regardless, it was rather effective on physical ailments. Perhaps we could travel there and speak with their healers."

A tiny, lopsided grin graces his lips as his hands rise and fall. She’s cut him off again. 

"Better yet! We could consolidate data from all of Hyrule's races. A populace without a fear of traveling would greatly benefit from a database on tending all—”

Link clears his throat.

Zelda shuts up.

He glances at her legs and then back up; she understands his question. “Much better.” 

He nods, still smiling, as he extends an unraveled leaf out to her. Two freshly-baked rolls with a thick purple jam smeared across the top warms her palm through the leaf.

“How did you—” She noticed the hint of purple circling both of his eyes, the half-lidded appearance to them. It’s with disappointment that she asks the obvious. “You didn’t sleep?”

He shrugs, popping the last bite of his roll into his mouth, and strides past her to pack the interior of the tent. A snide remark about protecting her comes to mind, but she thinks better of it. Derailing the progress of earning his forgiveness is not on her agenda today. With a sigh, she sits on a boulder and stares at the bread.

While it’s likely delicious, it and the abundance of meals stashed at his hip mean something deeper is troubling him. Cooking has always been Link's go-to method of quelling his anxiety, but the thought that she could be responsible for this batch eats at her.

She reties the twine.

"I'd like to buy some clothes of my own when we get to town,” she informs him when he reemerges.

His eyes drift to the top corner of his lids, making a mental note, before he nods once and continues dismantling the tent. Zelda leans over her lap and untwists the frizzy braids from behind each ear, frowning as kinky curls line her otherwise straight hair. Her decision to not undo them last night is a rueful one as her fingers detangle the mess.

“Hylia above,” she quietly curses, craning her neck to work the other side. Link hardly fights his laughter as his eyes glance between her and his task.

A moment passes of this: Link eyeing her with every foul word as he unwinds the ropes, and Zelda softly damning the goddesses, completely unaware of his gaze. Somehow, without warning or much notice, the tension between them seemingly dissolves.

“Is long hair even still in fashion?”

Though it’s rhetorical, Link tilts his head thoughtfully, like he’s imagining women he’s met across Hyrule. She stops struggling and laughs before shaking her head at him, at the ridiculousness of it. He straightens his neck, asking with his expression alone what’s funny.

“For months, you focused solely on defeating the Calamity, and here I am, asking if in your _ spare time_, you kept up with the fashion trends of Hylian women.”

His eyebrows flick up before the corner of his lip tilts mischievously, no doubt saying something sarcastic to himself. Asking him to repeat it is tempting though fruitless. 

To her surprise, he signs, “_I__t’s not_.”

“No?” He affirms his statement as he rounds the tent. Zelda gathers all of her hair into her palm and waves it back and forth dramatically. “Well, what am I going to do with all of this then?”

The full weight of it releases, dragging her head down like it's heavier all of a sudden. He doesn’t have an answer. She leans over again to work the tangles, and her gaze falls on the Master Sword sitting across from her.

"Don't even think about it."

She flinches, Link's voice surprising her though amusement colors his tone. Her gaze shifts to him. His back is still towards her, somehow knowing her eyes had been on the blade, of her plan to slice it all off.

"I doubt she’d mind,” Zelda quips to herself, wincing as she tugs too hard. She straightens her posture, and the mess falls around her shoulders. She sighs, defeated. Gathering the strands into a bun, she wonders if it looks as awful as it feels.

The tent falls flat to the earth before Link folds, then rolls it neatly. It disintegrates into his hip. He treks back to Zelda’s side, strapping the Master Sword to himself before she changes her mind about the bun. Giving her a once-over, he contemplates something before rifling through his pack.

“That pouch seems handy,” she says, securing her hair band in one last loop. “You’ll have to explain how it works sometime.”

He nods, finds what he's searching for, and offers it to her. It's a bandana in the matching shade of her tunic.

“That bad, huh?” she asks and fastens it around her head, knotting the ends at the nape of her neck.

A wry smile spreads on his lips as his eyes slowly blink once, like it's painful to spare her feelings. "_I could cut it for you when we get home._"

_Home_. That’s what he said. Not _my home_, but simply, _home. _Implying that she is not a guest at his place of residence, that for the foreseeable future his house is also her house—_their_ _house_.

A warmth permeates her heart. “I’d like that.”

He extends a hand to help her up, and she gladly accepts. His lingers against hers for a second too long, and it's that little hesitation to let go that tells her something has changed since last night. Given the light atmosphere in the air, the shy smiles they’re both fighting off their faces, and the little physical distance that’s shortening between them, she surmises that it’s likely a good something.

Warm wildberry jam fills her mouth as she finally bites into her roll. They head towards the Dueling Peaks Stable, towards Hateno Village, but more importantly, towards home.

**

“We may want to take another route. I think that woman back there was Yiga.”

They're situated on the far side of the stable, refilling their canteens at a water pump as Tasseren readies their horse. Link crouches beside the spout, keeping the flasks in place, while Zelda stands and pumps. His thumb jerks over his shoulder towards the entrance, eyebrows scrunching in question. She nods, and he disagrees.

“You don’t?” His head shakes again. “She was twirling a knife and glaring at you.”

“_At you,” _ he corrects.

She stops pumping. “That’s worse.”

He just shrugs, then flicks his chin up, encouraging her to continue. She doesn’t.

“You’re teasing me.” The corners of his mouth pull into his cheeks a little as he shrugs once more. "How are you nonchalant about this?”

“_Not a threat._”

“You know her?” His hand wiggles back and forth noncommittally. "And she doesn’t like you?”

Instead of answering, Link motions for her to start pumping again, and she does, though a little miffed.

"You know, I liked it better yesterday when you thought you couldn’t speak to me.” The bridge of his nose wrinkles as he forces his laughter through it; she’ll never get used to that sound.

They head back to the front of the stable just as Tasseren finishes saddling their steed. The woman in question still stands propped against the entrance, small blade still spinning, as her eyes follow them with every step.

“That oughta do it,” Tasseren says, clapping the dust from his palms. Link tucks his thumbs into the belt around his waist. It’s a new tell that Zelda’s noticed that means he intends to speak.

Zelda’s eyes travel to the doorway as the two men converse. A soft expression paints the woman's face as she watches Link, the inkling of a smile pulling into her left cheek. It’s a look Zelda recognizes. Castle Town’s young women had once been smitten by the Hero, giggling behind hands covering their rosen cheeks whenever he accompanied the Princess, as that brooding stoicism of his that she had found downright annoying captured their hearts. Though a hundred years have passed and he’s changed, it seems nothing else has.

The woman glares at Zelda, who has been staring for who knows how long, as the blade stalls in her hand. Zelda whirls back to the conversation, takes a step closer to Link, and ignores the fiery gaze that’s burning through the side of her head.

“There’s been trouble with some bokos near Ginner Woods. I don’t worry ‘bout you,” Tasseren says, motioning to Link, then winking at Zelda. “But you have a lady with ya, so I figured I’d pass that along.”

A part of her wants to tell him that she can handle herself, that she’s faced far worse than a couple of bokoblins, but Link says—"We'll keep that in mind"—before she gets up the nerve.

Tasseren bids them safe travels, and they both thank him with a small wave. Once he’s out of earshot, Zelda leans in close to Link and teases, “So, you have a girlfriend?”

Confusion furrows his brow before her eyes flick to the woman and her meaning dawns on him. Seemingly ignoring her childish behavior, he offers his folded palms to hoist her onto their horse, but she remains firmly rooted in place, crosses her arms over her chest, and stares at him with a stupid grin.

“A misunderstanding,” he corrects, again. Intrigued, she hums and waits for him to elaborate, but he rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "Later."

He offers his palms again, and this time she steps into it. Link hops on in front of her, and her arms snake around his midsection, chest pulled into the scabbard of the Master Sword as her hands lay against his hips. She nestles her chin onto his shoulder to clearly see their path, and they glance at each other in their periphery. Both immediately avert their gaze. His goes to the road ahead, but hers goes to the woman in the doorframe.

Zelda wonders how well she’d be able to dodge a knife just as Link spurs the steed into motion.

**

The Blatchery Plains open wide beneath them as they crest a hill half an hour later. Daylight coats the hordes of deactivated guardians plaguing the landscape like sores. Last night, they appeared as sparse looming shadows obscured by the darkness, the scope and magnitude of them a mystery. Now, there’s no denying how desperately Ganon wanted the two of them dead, how close he actually got.

Zelda’s grip instinctively tightens, Link clicks his tongue, and the horse picks up momentum. Reaching Fort Hateno was always going to be the hardest part of their journey.

A rusted metal leg stretches across the road as a guardian sits nestled at the path’s edge. It’s close enough that if Zelda reaches for it, she could touch it. The horse doesn't hesitate, hopping the obstruction, but Zelda’s gaze stays fixated on the machine.

It starts with the acidic stench of corruption creeping into her nose. Blackened clouds steal the sunlight as rain beads on her bare forearms. A whirring sounds from all directions. Distinctly mechanical. That purple, hazy malice douses the guardians clawing through the mud. Hunting. A striking blue eye spots them, honing in. Her ears ringing as the machine focuses and—

Her face burrows into Link’s neck, and the hallucination melts into darkness. Hooves against dirt replaces the charging laser, his earthy scent overpowers the malice, and the sun peeking through white clouds warms her back. Logically, she knows it's not real, yet her body still trembles, breath ragged and hands grasping Link’s tunic. His hand finds hers and squeezes reassuringly.

For Zelda, a cognitive dissonance lives here: Link is alive though she's seen him die. It's hard to rationalize that his heart’s actually beating when her hands have searched for his pulse and found nothing. It's hard to smell the lingering scent of his body when his burnt skin seems so fresh. It’s hard to know what’s real after being incorporeal for a century and fantasizing about winning the war when her Hero awakens.

Maybe, this is still a fantasy. Maybe, Link has never woken up, and maybe, he never will.

Fear seizes her.

..._Link is dead_.

_ Link is dead_.

_ Link is dead_.

_ Link is dead_.

_ Link is dead_.

“I’m here.”

His voice so quiet it’s almost lost to the wind. It's lower in timbre than normal, a quirk indicating he's forcing himself to speak. His thumb trails her wrist, coaxing her to relax, to come back to him.

“I promise. I’m right here.”

Her voice shakily chanting that mantra of death resonates in her ears. She cannot stop saying it despite Link’s reassurance that he’s alive, that he’s real. It’s as if her mind is finally processing what happened to him, as if it hadn’t happened a century ago. The logical part of her tries to sort through what she is truly experiencing.

Blood—Link’s blood—drenches her prayer gown, sagging the fabric against her chest. He’s not breathing! But there’s a body solid (not limp) in her grasp. Weight shifts heavily underneath her, feet dangling. No, her feet are planted, bare, and cold. On marble. She’s in the Sanctum, the sealing power's golden glow blinding her. An entity many millennia old speaks in tongues she shouldn’t understand, enticing her to its side. Fervent malice slithers up her arms and sears her skin like a thousand branding irons at once.

It’s not real.

It's not real!

But Link is.

His grip on her arm is tight as the horse hammers into the dirt path, speeding through the clearing as if they’re being chased. He’s pushing their steed to get somewhere safe, protecting her though there’s no physical threat. The horse veers left and grinds to a halt, snorting and stomping in frustration.

Link wiggles out of Zelda’s grasp before hastily dismounting. His hands yank on her waist, uprooting her from the saddle, as her face falls again to his neck. Her grip claws at his shoulder blades, bringing him in closer. Link says nothing as he lowers them to the ground and leans into a tree, bending his legs so Zelda lies comfortably between them. She gasps against his skin, unable to find her breath, as her body grieves the death of the boy who’s in her arms.

It's unfortunate that he’s always been a better protector than a consoler. One arm cradles her back as his other hand rests at the nape of her neck, petting the baby hairs. He shushes her a little and only speaks when it’s obvious she isn’t calming.

“It’s over, Zelda. We won.”

It does nothing.

He tries again, then falls quiet, contemplative. 

“You were right, you know?” he says after a few minutes. “Fairy tonics are more a jolt of energy than a medicine. Hiding the pain to keep you fighting.”

His words sound garbled, like he’s speaking underwater, but the cadence of his voice is still melodic, calming.

“Armoranth's good for sore muscles. Simmered ironshroom juice sometimes protects the skin. Depends on the strength."

There’s a long pause between each thought, like he’s unsure what to say next, like he’s unconvinced that this is working, like he’s gathering strength to speak.

“Truffles. Hard to find, super effective. I used that Gerudo salve for sunburn once. It's good.”

Her breathing regulates as real words hit her ears, comprehension flooding back.

“Haven’t found anything for bruises, but I made a list of things I've tried if you wanna see.”

Zelda nods, and the warmth of his hand leaves her neck. She catches his wrist in the middle of his chest, stopping him from unclipping the slate. He freezes.

“Not now,” she says, voice hoarse, “but thank you.”

It’s only when he nods that she realizes how close they are. His cheek and nose muss up the top of her hair—her bandana must’ve fallen off somewhere—as his other hand cups her hip, fingers rubbing in tiny circles. She’s completely cuddled against him, curled up between his legs. It somehow feels much more intimate than last night.

Her hand tentatively slides into his and intertwines their fingers before bringing them to rest against his chest, against the steady rise and fall, against the very real heartbeat. After a moment, she says, “I will need you to repeat all of that for me though.”

Zelda feels his laughter more than she hears it.

The sun is too bright when her eyes finally squint open to the small forest around them. The dirt trail on their left leads towards a clearing ahead, and Fort Hateno, the Royal Army’s once impressive stronghold, sits decrepit in front of them.

They’ve made it to the other side.

She sighs with relief before her gaze hovers on the fort, and she sighs again, disheartened. It seems there are other things she still must grieve.

Her hand pulls away from Link’s, and he immediately lets go, easing her off of him and onto her feet. He shifts his weight to rise, but she holds up her hand, and he waits, eyeing her.

“I only need a minute,” she says. They both know it’s a lie.

Link nods once, then settles again beneath the tree. 

Zelda’s feet drag a little as she approaches, as if timid. It’s been easier for her to think of the Calamity as an abstract thing, as a war between gods, rather than accept the reality of its destruction. Even now, after her battle, with tactile proof in front of her, the image of Fort Hateno in its glory days is still vivid.

The royal colors proudly flying. Soldiers standing guard on the rampart with nothing but smiles beneath their helmets. The oily scent of varnish wafting off freshly polished armor, and the chains’ melody _ clink, clink, clink_ing as the gate opens. 

What sits before her cannot be the same place.

Her hand scrapes against the weathered stones, tracing the crumbled mortar barely holding them together. It coats her palm and fingertips in grit. Exhaling a steady breath, she tucks her feet beneath her, dewy grass yielding to her knees, and does something she hasn't done in a hundred years: prays.

Not to Hylia, but to the soldiers who perished here fighting to protect her and Link, to the ones at the citadel who faced the same fate, and to the denizens of the kingdom who had no choice. They were right; she had failed them. They have no reason to forgive her, and she will never ask them to. She instead apologizes on behalf of Hylia, knowing the Goddess would never do it Herself.

Something deep within her knows that this is what Hylia always intended, that divinity in mortal flesh carried consequences, and that her father’s kingdom had paid for it in blood. 

Resentment heats Zelda's hand, her sealing power illuminating the grey stones. It doesn’t do much, if anything. It just feels right, like she’s finally healing the blight on the land, cleansing the wounds the Goddess left raw. She wipes her cheek, and the grainy particles cling to moisture she didn’t know was there.

“I am so sorry,” she whispers endlessly.

Zelda prays until her legs grow numb beneath her. Static prickles her calves as she stands and the blood rushes back in. She scrubs her face with her tunic sleeve, but it does little to remove the grit. She gives up trying and turns back to Link.

He’s zoned out, eyes glazed, almost catatonic, as his hand scratches at their horse’s neck. It lies beside him, nosing the handful of apple cores in his lap, desperate for a bite. It seems to have forgiven him for pushing it so hard. His eyes focus again once she’s close. 

Her bandana hangs loosely around his neck. Either he went back for it or had another one in his pack; she assumes the former. She counts the apple cores in his lap (seven) and the unraveled korok leaves in the grass (five). Had he a normal appetite, she could guess how long she’s been praying, but with Link, it’s been either ten minutes or a few hours. 

He gives her a thumbs-up and cocks his head to the side, a question. She can only nod.

In two tugs, the bandana untwists from his neck, and he offers it to her, before rising to his feet. The fabric lays flat against her scalp and just behind her ears as she ties it again at the nape.

“Am I presentable now?” she asks, a poor attempt at lightening the mood.

A little grin paints his face as he looks her over. “No.”

Link takes his tank top into his hand and lifts it to mid-chest, his plum-colored abdomen appearing darker in the sunlight, more painful, before he wipes the residual grime from her cheeks. He applies more pressure until his lips crease into frown at the lingering dirt. He drops the fabric and licks his thumb.

“Hold still.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Bark scratches her back before she can squirm away. His other hand cups her face and his thigh jams between her legs to still her. Zelda half-laughs, half-shrieks at the contact, face scrunching up. It's wet, and slimy, and somehow endearing. He massages her cheek, adding more force, before licking his other thumb and switching sides.

Satisfied, his thumb lets up. Zelda expects him to retreat, but he doesn't, the pad of his finger still tracing her skin. It’s as gentle and as faint as this morning, and that sends butterflies swirling in her stomach. His breath is warm, a soft pant mingling with hers, as the world seemingly slows around them.

Her eyes flutter open to Link staring at her parted lips, expression unreadable, thinking. He’s so close, yet every second he doesn't move closer is agonizing. She can see the muted freckles dotted across his nose, the tiny scar cutting through his right eyebrow, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips. A pull clenches inside of her, but the tension breaks her first.

“Was that really necessary?”

He blinks hard, coming to his senses, and slides his hand off her face. She wipes away any remaining spit with her tunic sleeve as he steps back, a stupid grin on his features.

“Very.” 

They remount their horse, and while her hands still lay against his hips and her chin still rests on his shoulder, it’s not as awkward as this morning. She lets her arms hug him a little tighter.

When they reach the clearing, she says, "I never want to do that again.”

It’s a mystery whether she means riding through the plains, the praying, or both.

Link shrugs. “I can’t promise that I won’t spit on you again.”

**

Heeding Tasseren's warning, they make camp near the shore of Lake Jarrah just as the sky fades to a light yellow. Link assembles the tent after dinner while Zelda unties her boots on the ground beside him. The ends of her laces slip through the top eyelets, and she slides out of them before ripping off her socks and stuffing them inside. Her bare feet meet grass still warmed from the sunlight. Little blades stick between her toes as she curls and uncurls them, the uprooted pieces clinging to the webbing. It kind of tickles.

There are times where she becomes hyperaware of her body. Every breath, every blink, every muscle and bone. It’s an unbearable urge to adjust each part of herself, like she’s inspecting a machine, afraid that it'll cease working if she doesn’t. She moves from her toes upwards, twisting her ankles in and out, bending her knees to sit cross-legged, then straight.

One leg rises into the air and then the other. She wiggles her hips, flexes her stomach. A deep breath expands her lungs to capacity, holding it until the back of her throat burns. Her shoulders roll before she lifts her arms above her head, stretching out her back. Elbows bend, biceps tighten, wrists swivel. Her hand stalls at eye-level, and she watches as each finger individually touches her palm. Her eyes close, and she repeats the movement, as if worried the sensation wouldn’t happen if she weren’t looking. 

“Still weird,” she sighs, dropping the hand to her side. Her toes resume curling the grass, and she fights the desire to do it all again.

Orange skies give way to purple when Link joins her, tugging off his own boots and socks. His arms tuck behind his head as he lays down and closes his eyes. Zelda stares at him, at his chest rising and falling, at his nose twitching with an itch and feet lazily playing with the grass.

_ He is alive_, she assures herself.

The faint purple around his eyes has darkened from this morning, and the bottom lids have slightly puffed up. He’s exhausted, and while she knows that he needs to rest—deserves to rest—something still nags at her.

“That woman at the stable was interesting, huh?”

The eye closest to her pops open. He groans a little, then shrugs a shoulder. “_It’s a stupid story._”

“I haven't heard one in a long time,” she says, gaze shifting to the sky as she grins. She can almost feel his eyes rolling.

“Her name's Sagessa.” He clears his throat. “I stayed the night there because of a storm when I first woke up. Waiting in line for the inn when she asked if we could sleep together, and not knowing any better, I said _ yes_.”

Her stomach drops, fire bursting through her chest and up her neck in waves. A part of her wants him to stop (she’s changed her mind, she doesn’t need to know), but another part is too curious to let him.

“Oh?”

"I thought she didn’t have enough rupees for her own bed." 

The heat recedes a little. “You didn’t.”

He sighs, "I did."

Silence hangs between them as if Link had decided that was the end of the story. Zelda rotates to her side and props herself up onto her elbow, palm cupping her chin, almost teasingly attentive. "Then what happened?"

"I... uhh..." He chuckles and shakes his head, eyes closing in shame. “Bought two beds.”

Zelda’s hand fails to stifle her laughter. “You _ didn’t_.”

"I was a week old. How was I supposed to know what _ that _ meant?"

"Was she upset?"

"Pissed. Yelled at me for five minutes, then stomped out into the rain. Tasseren thought it was hilarious. Gave me free boarding for a month." He smiles a little, then shakes his head again. “Not my proudest moment.”

“Not your worst either. Unfortunately—” _ Fortunately. _ “—you've always been oblivious to flirtation.”

He cringes, eyes shutting even tighter. “Gods, the amount of dirt you must have on me.”

“Easily a mountain’s worth," she says, smile widening.

A low whistle blows between his lips. “Do I even want to know?”

Zelda curls an arm underneath her head, inching a smidgen closer. The teasing atmosphere shifts as her tone becomes more sincere. “Do you?

A hum mumbles in his throat as Link thinks it over, eases back into that comfortable spot on his arms, and sighs. “Embarrass me another day.”

“Happily.”

The wind brings a chill as the last specks of sunlight disappear on the horizon. Zelda wraps her arm around her midsection and scoots a little closer to Link, just enough to feel his body heat without touching him. Though nuzzling into his side is all too inviting, she restrains herself, a jealous thought still picking at her.

“I’m sure she wasn’t the only one.”

“Hmm?”

“Sagessa. She likely wasn’t the last to offer.”

He shrugs.

Really, it shouldn’t matter. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, to even question. And yet— “So, did you?”

“Did I what?”

“...you know.”

A wrinkle dresses his brow as he turns to her, assessing if she’s serious or not. He lets the silence hang until it’s uncomfortable and oppressive, until she thinks about playing it off like a joke, until she considers legging it back to Kakariko and never speaking to him again. Then he smiles and replies, sarcastic as ever, “How else would I know about women’s fashion trends?”

She pokes the divot between his ribs, and he pretends it hurts.

“I was just curious.” Link hums lowly. She pokes him again for good measure. “You used to be such a heartbreaker. I just wondered if that was still true.”

“Was I?” There’s an almost smugness to his tone.

Zelda scoffs. “You never noticed, but I think everyone in Hyrule wanted to marry you. I had this theory that Hylia only reincarnated Her favorite parts of the Hero’s soul. That She made people perceive you the way She does, like through the eyes of a lover. So that when people looked at you, they couldn’t help falling a little bit in love.”

His eyes soften. “You really think that?”

Goddesses, if that isn’t a loaded question.

“I mean—” a nervous chuckle “—I don’t actually believe it happens to everyone, just some people. Your height is probably a dealbreaker for most.” He elbows her in jest.

“But surely you’ve noticed it by now?” she continues, more genuine, and he shrugs half-heartedly. “Through Her lens, people would view every negative aspect as a positive. Like you have this overwhelming charm about you no matter what.”

A harsh snort shoots through his nose. “So, the moblin guts under my nails are charming?” he asks, skeptical.

“Yes,” she says, matter-of-fact. “They would rationalize it as you’re too busy protecting everyone to take care of yourself.”

“And when I smelled like an infected wound for a week?”

“Same thing.”

He quiets, searching through his bad qualities. “I can’t talk sometimes.”

“Too easy. They’d say, ‘The pressure you’re under must be overwhelming.’ Give me a hard one.” Zelda’s head finds a home on his chest, and he hums, mulling it over.

“I break every weapon I touch.”

“They must all be poor quality. Obviously.”

He goes silent again, then clicks his tongue. “How I eat like a pig?”

“You need a healthy appetite for those _strong_ muscles." Her hand reaches over and squeezes the thin upper arm tucked behind his head. The skin is firm, but still squishy. He watches her hand, a grin spreading on his face.

“And my ridiculous tan lines?” She trails up his arm to his shoulder, index finger dancing across the bone, her touch turned more loving than teasing.

“You sprout freckles on your shoulders,” she says, voice softening, looking up at him, “and on your nose when you’ve been in the sun too long.” Her finger boops the tip of his nose, follows it up the bridge, then arches over his eyebrow.

Link’s arm drops, hand circling her waist, and nudges her closer. Their knees bump, and they connect from hip to shoulder. The wind no longer feels as cold. He visibly swallows as his voice lowers, gaining a serious tone. “I’m more scars than skin.”

Zelda takes his scarred ear into her hand. “Underneath that hard demeanor," she says, rolling the tip of it between her thumb and forefinger, "you have a truly vulnerable side.” She slowly traces down to the lobe and toys with his piercing.

They lay here, gazes locked, unmoving bar their fingers absentmindedly caressing each other. Shy smiles form on their lips, like they both know a secret the other doesn’t, desperate to spill it. His forehead finds hers, and the cartilage of their noses squish together. Their inhaled breaths are the other’s exhaled, and they’re inching closer and closer and closer and—

“I do really stupid things,” he whispers.

“And you get this devious smile when you do.” The pad of Zelda’s thumb brushes over his lips, soft and parted. “Like you know it’s stupid, but you just can’t help yourself.”

Her mouth hovers near his, half-expecting him to bridge the gap, but Link stays still, trembling, as if waiting for her command like the obedient knight of his past. Luckily, she’s no longer a princess.

"Is this okay?" she asks.

A shaky breath leaves him, and his eyes flutter closed. Hers follow. Seconds pass until his lips brush hers, answering, "No."

The ground is cold as her head _ thunks _ against it, eyes snapping open. Link’s on his feet, half-way between her and the lake, wide-eyed and breath ragged, hands threaded through his hair, staring at the ground, pacing. 

Flames ignite inside her, so much worse than earlier, so much uglier. It coils in her belly, like a wick set alight, and makes her nauseous. She sits up, wrapping her arms around her knees, making herself as small as she feels. Her voice is meek, “What’s wrong?”

If he has an answer, he doesn’t speak it. His fingers push into the sides of his head, as if it’s too loud, as if he can’t think clearly. He walks ten steps in one direction, then promptly turns and walks another ten, repeating over and over and over, his entire body quaking.

Zelda’s fingertips touch her lips. His behavior doesn’t make sense. “But you’ve already kissed me.”

_ “Do you really remember me?” _Link had stared at her virtually expressionless until a wide grin spread on his lips, and in three long strides, they were on hers. Soft, and sweet, and real, and everything she had forgotten. While he hadn’t said ‘_yes,’ _ it had been enough of an answer then, but it wasn’t much of one now.

He agrees with her, but then can’t stop, nodding on every other left step. His lips mouth words he isn’t speaking.

“Then why not now?” she asks, voice bolder as the heartache of rejection fades into fury, her wick burning. The longer he remains silent, the more aggravated she becomes. “You almost kissed me twice today.”

A noncommittal noise hums in his throat, almost like a whimper.

She should feel sympathetic. She should help him calm down like he had done for her. Her hands clench into fists instead, nails digging into the skin, as she lashes out, “So what is the problem, Link?”

He stops pacing and stares at her. That wild look in his eyes melts into desperation, like he’s pleading for her to understand, before turning sorrowful. A moment passes until he steadies his breath, and his fingers unwind from his hair, signing, “_I’m not_ _him_.”

“Who?” He shakes his head. She asks again, louder, “Who?”

“The dead boy you fell in love with_,_” he snaps. His lips tightly curl inwards, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he’s in pain, as if he’s mentally scolding himself. Though he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, Zelda knows he’s right.

He is not her Link from a century ago, and any remaining hope that he is burns with the rest of her.

A heavy breath leaves him before he calmly signs, “_I want to be, but I’m not._”

“I’m not asking you to be anyone but yourself,” she says. It’s meant to be sincere, but it sounds hostile. He hangs his head, like it’s unbearable to look at her, and shrugs his shoulders. The wick burns down to the bomb inside of her, and she detonates. “Okay, fine. You’re different. Is that what you want me to say?”

Nothing.

"You're different, and it's my fault. I failed to unlock my power until it was too late. I killed you. I killed our friends, our families. I’m responsible for all of this!” Her arms gesture out to the world around them. “So tell me you hate me. I deserve it.”

"_Stop._"

“Should I have just let you die? The Hero's soul would've reincarnated and finished _ your _ job. I could have waited. What's another hundred, two hundred, a thousand years fighting Ganon, right?" Silence. "But I didn’t want a hero. I wanted it to be you. That's what you want to hear, huh? That I’m selfish?”

“Stop. Talking.”

“Because I _ knew _what would happen when you went into that shrine. I _ knew _ you would come out a blank slate. But I still did it because I loved you. Because I couldn’t imagine my life without you. _ I _did this to you! So go ahead! Tell me you hate me! Tell me you hate me! Tell me yo—”

“Shut up!”

Link has never raised his voice at anyone; it doesn’t even sound like him. He’s trembling again, hands covering his ears, as that sorrowful look creeps back onto his face. Zelda’s fire is dead, and all of that pain her anger hid floods her chest, coursing around her heart like tiny threads tying tighter and tighter. 

A long minute passes before Link’s hands drop to sign, but then he shakes his head and forces himself to speak. "I could never hate you.”

She whispers back, broken, “But you don’t love me.”

And it hurts because she just wants to hold him. And it hurts because she just wants to hear him laugh.

And it hurts because she just wants to kiss him. And it hurts because she just wants to be wanted.

“Zelda, I…” he sighs, tender and forlorn._“ _I barely know you. I’m sorry.”

She nods a little as she rises to her feet, accepting that this is real, that Link doesn’t love her anymore, and that he may never love her again. Her arms encompass her waist, subconsciously protecting herself, before she heads towards the tent. Her chin tucks into her chest; she just can’t look at him anymore.

“I am sorry,” he repeats when she reaches the entrance. His voice mirrors the pain inside of her, but a malicious part of her thinks that it isn’t enough, that he deserves to hurt as much as she does.

"A hundred years I fought for us,” she says flatly. “And when I thought about our future, about who we would be after it was all over... I thought that by now, you wouldn’t still be so afraid of your own fucking feelings. But some things never change, huh?”

The tent flaps rip open, and if he has a response, she doesn’t hear it.

Zelda does not cry as she strips off her clothes (Link’s clothes) and changes into her pajamas. She does not cry as she slithers into the bedroll (his bedroll) and unfurls the extra blanket (his blanket) over top. She does not cry when her head hits the pillow and that earthy smell (his smell) wafts into her nose. It is only when a shiver travels up her spine, reminding her that he won’t be there to warm her, that her first tear spills and her resolve crumbles.


End file.
